His Masterpiece, Emile Zola [read ebook pdf .TXT] 📗
- Author: Emile Zola
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Sergeants Who Sat Nearby, Good-Natured Fellows Both Of Them, Almost
Died Of Laughter As They Shuffled Their Cards Afresh.
In Fact, Irma Had Taken Them All By Storm. Sandoz Declared That Her
Name Of Becot Was Very Well Suited For A Novel; Claude Asked Whether
She Would Consent To Pose For A Sketch; While Mahoudeau Already
Pictured Her As A Paris Gamin, A Statuette That Would Be Sure To Sell.
Part 3 Pg 58She Soon Went Off, However, And Behind The Gentleman's Back She Wafted
Kisses To The Whole Party, A Shower Of Kisses Which Quite Upset The
Impressionable Jory.
It Was Five O'clock, And The Band Ordered Some More Beer. Some Of The
Usual Customers Had Taken Possession Of The Adjacent Tables, And These
Philistines Cast Sidelong Glances At The Artists' Corner, Glances In
Which Contempt Was Curiously Mingled With A Kind Of Uneasy Deference.
The Artists Were Indeed Well Known; A Legend Was Becoming Current
Respecting Them. They Themselves Were Now Talking On Common-Place
Subjects: About The Heat, The Difficulty Of Finding Room In The
Omnibus To The Odeon, And The Discovery Of A Wine-Shop Where Real Meat
Was Obtainable. One Of Them Wanted To Start A Discussion About A
Number Of Idiotic Pictures That Had Lately Been Hung In The Luxembourg
Museum; But There Was Only One Opinion On The Subject, That The
Pictures Were Not Worth Their Frames. Thereupon They Left Off
Conversing; They Smoked, Merely Exchanging A Word Or A Significant
Smile Now And Then.
'Well,' Asked Claude At Last, 'Are We Going To Wait For Gagniere?'
At This There Was A Protest. Gagniere Was A Bore. Besides, He Would
Turn Up As Soon As He Smelt The Soup.
'Let's Be Off, Then,' Said Sandoz. 'There's A Leg Of Mutton This
Evening, So Let's Try To Be Punctual.'
Each Paid His Score, And They All Went Out. Their Departure Threw The
Cafe Into A State Of Emotion. Some Young Fellows, Painters, No Doubt,
Whispered Together As They Pointed At Claude, Much In The Same Manner
As If He Were The Redoubtable Chieftain Of A Horde Of Savages. Jory's
Famous Article Was Producing Its Effect; The Very Public Was Becoming
His Accomplice, And Of Itself Was Soon To Found That School Of The
Open Air, Which The Band Had So Far Only Joked About. As They Gaily
Said, The Cafe Baudequin Was Not Aware Of The Honour They Had Done It
On The Day When They Selected It To Be The Cradle Of A Revolution.
Fagerolles Having Reinforced The Group, They Now Numbered Five, And
Slowly They Took Their Way Across Paris, With Their Tranquil Look Of
Victory. The More Numerous They Were, The More Did They Stretch Across
The Pavement, And Carry Away On Their Heels The Burning Life Of The
Streets. When They Had Gone Down The Rue De Clichy, They Went Straight
Along The Rue De La Chaussee D'antin, Turned Towards The Rue De
Richelieu, Crossed The Seine By The Pont Des Arts, So As To Fling
Their Gibes At The Institute, And Finally Reached The Luxembourg By
Way Of The Rue De Seine, Where A Poster, Printed In Three Colours, The
Garish Announcement Of A Travelling Circus, Made Them All Shout With
Admiration. Evening Was Coming On; The Stream Of Wayfarers Flowed More
Slowly; The Tired City Was Awaiting The Shadows Of Night, Ready To
Yield To The First Comer Who Might Be Strong Enough To Take Her.
On Reaching The Rue D'enfer, When Sandoz Had Ushered His Four Friends
Into His Own Apartments, He Once More Vanished Into His Mother's Room.
He Remained There For A Few Moments, And Then Came Out Without Saying
A Word, But With The Tender, Gentle Smile Habitual To Him On Such
Occasions. And Immediately Afterwards A Terrible Hubbub, Of Laughter,
Argument, And Mere Shouting, Arose In His Little Flat. Sandoz Himself
Set The Example, All The While Assisting The Charwoman, Who Burst Into
Part 3 Pg 59Bitter Language Because It Was Half-Past Seven, And Her Leg Of Mutton
Was Drying Up. The Five Companions, Seated At Table, Were Already
Swallowing Their Soup, A Very Good Onion Soup, When A New Comer
Suddenly Appeared.
'Hallo! Here's Gagniere,' Was The Vociferous Chorus.
Gagniere, Short, Slight, And Vague Looking, With A Doll-Like Startled
Face, Set Off By A Fair Curly Beard, Stood For A Moment On The
Threshold Blinking His Green Eyes. He Belonged To Melun, Where His
Well-To-Do Parents, Who Were Both Dead, Had Left Him Two Houses; And
He Had Learnt Painting, Unassisted, In The Forest Of Fontainebleau.
His Landscapes Were At Least Conscientiously Painted, Excellent In
Intention; But His Real Passion Was Music, A Madness For Music, A
Cerebral Bonfire Which Set Him On A Level With The Wildest Of The
Band.
'Am I In The Way?' He Gently Asked.
'Not At All; Come In!' Shouted Sandoz.
The Charwoman Was Already Laying An Extra Knife And Fork.
'Suppose She Lays A Place For Dubuche, While She Is About It,' Said
Claude. 'He Told Me He Would Perhaps Come.'
But They Were All Down Upon Dubuche, Who Frequented Women In Society.
Jory Said That He Had Seen Him In A Carriage With An Old Lady And Her
Daughter, Whose Parasols He Was Holding On His Knees.
'Where Have You Come From To Be So Late?' Asked Fagerolles Of
Gagniere.
The Latter, Who Was About To Swallow His First Spoonful Of Soup, Set
It In His Plate Again.
'I Was In The Rue De Lancry--You Know, Where They Have Chamber Music.
Oh! My Boy, Some Of Schumann's Machines! You Haven't An Idea Of Them!
They Clutch Hold Of You At The Back Of Your Head Just As If Somebody
Were Breathing Down Your Back. Yes, Yes, It's Something Much More
Immaterial Than A Kiss, Just A Whiff Of Breath. 'Pon My Honour, A
Fellow Feels As If He Were Going To Die.'
His Eyes Were Moistening And He Turned Pale, As If Experiencing Some
Over-Acute Enjoyment.
'Eat Your Soup,' Said Mahoudeau; 'You'll Tell Us All About It
Afterwards.'
The Skate Was Served, And They Had The Vinegar Bottle Put On The Table
To Improve The Flavour Of The Black Butter, Which Seemed Rather
Insipid. They Ate With A Will, And The Hunks Of Bread Swiftly
Disappeared. There Was Nothing Refined About The Repast, And The Wine
Was Mere Common Stuff, Which They Watered Considerably From A Feeling
Of Delicacy, In Order To Lessen Their Host's Expenses. They Had Just
Saluted The Leg Of Mutton With A Hurrah, And The Host Had Begun To
Carve It, When The Door Opened Anew. But This Time There Were Furious
Protests.
Part 3 Pg 60'No, No, Not Another Soul! Turn Him Out, Turn Him Out.'
Dubuche, Out Of Breath With Having Run, Bewildered At Finding Himself
Amidst Such Howling, Thrust His Fat, Pallid Face Forward, Whilst
Stammering Explanations.
'Really, Now, I Assure You It Was The Fault Of The Omnibuses. I Had To
Wait For Five Of Them In The Champs Elysees.'
'No, No, He's Lying!--Let Him Go, He Sha'n't Have Any Of That Mutton.
Turn Him Out, Turn Him Out!'
All The Same, He Ended By Coming In, And It Was Then Noticed That He
Was Stylishly Attired, All In Black, Trousers And Frock-Coat Alike,
And Cravated And Booted In The Stiff Ceremonious Fashion Of Some
Respectable Member Of The Middle Classes Going Out To Dinner.
'Hallo! He Has Missed His Invitation,' Chaffed Fagerolles. 'Don't You
See That His Fine Ladies Didn't Ask Him To Stay To Dinner, And So Now
He's Come To Gobble Up Our Leg Of Mutton, As He Doesn't Know Where
Else To Go?'
At This Dubuche Turned Red, And Stammered: 'Oh! What An Idea! How
Ill-Natured You Are! And, Besides, Just Attend To Your Own Business.'
Sandoz And Claude, Seated Next To Each Other, Smiled, And The Former,
Beckoning To Dubuche, Said To Him: 'Lay Your Own Place, Bring A Plate
And A Glass, And Sit Between Us--Like That, They'll Leave You Alone.'
However, The Chaff Continued All The Time That The Mutton Was Being
Eaten. When The Charwoman Had Brought Dubuche A Plate Of Soup And A
Piece Of Skate, He Himself Fell In With The Jokes Good-Naturedly. He
Pretended To Be Famished, Greedily Mopped Out His Plate, And Related A
Story About A Mother Having Refused Him Her Daughter Because He Was An
Architect. The End Of The Dinner Thus Became Very Boisterous; They All
Rattled On Together. The Only Dessert, A Piece Of Brie Cheese, Met
With Enormous Success. Not A Scrap Of It Was Left, And The Bread
Almost Ran Short. The Wine Did Run Short, So They Each Swallowed A
Clear Draught Of Water, Smacking Their Lips The While Amidst Great
Laughter. And, With Faces Beaming, And Well-Filled Paunches, They
Passed Into The Bedroom With The Supreme Content Of Folks Who Have
Fared Very Sumptuously Indeed.
Those Were Sandoz's Jolly Evenings. Even At The Times When He Was Hard
Up He Had Always Had Some Boiled Beef And Broth To Share With His
Comrades. He Felt Delighted At Having A Number Of Them Around Him, All
Friends, Inspired By The Same Ideas. Though He Was Of Their Own Age,
He Beamed With Fatherly Feelings And Satisfied Good-Nature When He Saw
Them In His Rooms, Around Him, Hand In Hand, And Intoxicated With
Hope. As He Had But Two Rooms, The Bedroom Did Duty As A Drawing-Room,
And Became As Much Theirs As His. For Lack Of Sufficient Chairs, Two
Or Three Had To Seat Themselves On The Bed. And On Those Warm Summer
Evenings The Window Remained Wide Open To Let In The Air. From It Two
Black Silhouettes Were To Be Seen Rising Above The Houses, Against The
Clear Sky--The Tower Of St. Jacques Du Haut-Pas And The Tree Of The
Deaf And Dumb Asylum. When Money Was Plentiful There Was Beer. Every
One Brought His Own Tobacco, The Room Soon Became Full Of Smoke, And
Part 3 Pg 61
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